


Quinn

by I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Fantasy Material Only, Life with a Sith, Male Submission to a Female Dominant, Masochist Malavai Quinn, Multi, No Negotiation, Not the Usual PIV Sex, Other, Reference of Past Vindictive Sex, Sexual Content, Spoilers for SWTOR Sith Warrior Story Line, Terribly Unsafe BDSM, The Creatures Involved Seem to Think It's a Happy Ending, Unscrupulous Sadist Sith, Very Unhealthy Interpersonal Relationships, very dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 17:04:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14877840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning/pseuds/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning
Summary: “If you think that's the best use of me.”-Malavai Quinn





	Quinn

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Квинн](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16374275) by [altennie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/altennie/pseuds/altennie)



> Sith love how a person makes them feel instead of loving the person. The instant Padmé stopped making Anakin feel the way she used to, he throttled her. Ahsoka on Malachor no longer kissed up to him. We all know how that went.
> 
> Welcome to a ship three thousand years before Anakin's birth, where a Sith peruses the people who belong to her and explores how they make her feel. PWP + fear and a man craving to submit to one terribly self-centered woman.
> 
> I'm playing through Star Wars: The Old Republic (SWTOR), and my female Sith Warrior semi recently had this conversation with her companion:
> 
> “It goes without saying: I will impart whatever skills and knowledge I can on your future disciples.” — Companion Malavai Quinn
> 
> “My plans go beyond service for you, Quinn. You will father my children.” — Sith Warrior
> 
> “Of course, my lord. Call on me in whatever capacity you see fit.”
> 
> No dates first, no wooing, nothing, zip zilch nada— just out of the blue, this demand. So yes. Of course I wrote a thing. Granted, it seemed sexier in my mind before it got written out, because in the writing it grew ever more disturbing. Maybe because I have a difficult time writing a romanticized version of a Sith? Perhaps I shall just have to write something else sometime, about precious little masochist Malavai, explore how happy he is, even if he deserves someone he can actually trust.

 

“I'll be in my quarters,” Quinn announced as always, so careful to let their master know where he was at all times.

The Sith hadn't even asked it of him, it was just something he volunteered.

Only one of the reasons he drove Pierce insane.

No one expected their mistress to even acknowledge the routine statement, but she raised golden eyes from where she studied the latest message from the Dark Council at the holotable. “I think not,” she spoke, freezing Quinn in his step. “Retire instead to mine and await me there.”

Not a muscle moved in the Imperial Officer, though Pierce tried to read any reaction at all.

“As you wish, my lord,” was all he said at last, and changed direction to head down the correct hallway of the  _Fury_ -class ship they all called home.

Or...

Base, anyway. Pierce didn't feel much for homes, and Vette was a slave in  _name,_ not just fact, and who knew what she thought anyway. She always covered everything up with an inane patter of chatter that annoyed Pierce almost as much as Quinn did.

Almost.

 

* * *

 

The crimson-skinned Pureblood leaning over the table only lingered a few moments longer before she strode away after her Captain, apparently unconcerned that the other five members of her crew were watching.

“Oh, dear,” the custodial droid who tended the ship murmured. “I shall prepare the medroom immediately.” He trundled in the correct direction, shaking his head. “Oh, dear, dear.”

Pierce exchanged only a glance with Vette before they both crept down the hall in the direction of the Sith's cabin, pausing at the door to listen.

Vette felt her insides knot up, knew her lekku writhed in tandem.

_Will Quinn be as harmed as Pierce was when she's done?_

 

* * *

 

Malavai Quinn stood at attention in the center of the room, equidistant from the bed, the electrocuffs on the wall, and the now-closed door that his lord stood before.

She hadn't demanded he call her this; it was simply his way, from the very start of their acquaintanceship.

“The other day I informed you of the task I have set you,” she explained, eyes watching his facade of calm. With his head up and shoulders back, he still stood a couple inches shorter than his mistress.

Short and well-groomed black hair. Blue eyes. Two moles just below his left eye. Cleanshaven. Slight, but strong. He hadn't formed those muscles by short-burst weight lifting, either, but by genuine hard work. Endurance muscles.

Unlike Pierce, who towered over them all and was built like an actor from a boxing holo.

“Do you remember what you promised me?”

Quinn gave a small, military nod, and paraphrased what he'd said that first time, just two days earlier.

_“It goes without saying I will impart whatever skills and knowledge I can on your future disciples.”_

Making sure  _she_ knew where he stood in the aftermath of the Dark Council's upheaval. And the wild claims made by a being who might be the Emperor that even  _she_ wasn't sure she believed, even after having felt the apparition's power. 

“You may remain unaware of the situation I find myself in,” she spoke, choosing a casual tone, knowing Pierce and Vette had their ears to the door. Apprentice Jaesa was feigning a lack of interest.

Quinn probably knew it too.

“The war is well underway and I have no reason to be involved in it particularly. The Dark Council has communicated they will stay out of my way if I do not try to humiliate them; and my authority as the Emperor's Wrath is nearly absolute.”

A nervous pulse of the skin over his jugular.

“It is time to think of my legacy. For a while I considered finding a Force-sensitive stud to bend to my will, but DNA doners can be funny things; growing excessively fond of their creations and causing trouble. And if word got out I was trying to locate such a creature, my enemies might slip the perfect candidate into my possession only to have the sleeper agent turn on me when it was least convenient.”

Quinn did not speak.

It made his mistress smile. Vette would be babbling from discomfort right about now. Even Pierce would try to shorten her speech in order to lessen his own wait-in-suspense time, but Quinn knew how to stand his ground. How to let her  _lead._

“That left the three males within my crew. I have no interest in discovering if the Talz has a cock.”

There— just the tiniest wrinkle in his forehead. He didn't like contemplating the question much either.

“First I thought of Pierce. Force-deaf as a fripping Hutt, but he had physical attributes that in offspring might make a mother proud.” She felt her lip curl. “I decided to consider it, invited him to my bed. The man, in his arrogance, assumed that gave him a right to place his length in my quim.”

It was highly doubtful anyone in the ship  _didn't_ know this, but the drop of sweat that formed on Quinn's head was very pleasing to watch.

“'I thought,'” she mocked, feigning Pierce's deep voice. “'I  _thought_ .'”

She had humiliated him, and he'd ended up in a bacta tank for a week.

The evening hadn't been wasted, however, because she certainly received the pleasure she'd demanded from him. He had none whatsoever, because his mistress held little tolerance for whining.

And his precious, needy  _dick_ hadn't had anything but pain and damage. Certainly not what Pierce had assumed he  _deserved_ when a woman invited him into her chamber for sexual purposes.

The man should learn how to  _ask_ instead of  _assume._ He certainly had been startled about her assuming she would just enter  _him_ using toys _—_ she succeeded, of course, where he didn't— but perhaps he should have considered his preconceived biases. He clearly didn't think it polite to enter into a sexual situation with someone  _assuming_ they were allowed entry into another's body.

Unless it was a woman, of course. Then it was just to be expected.

He certainly learned never to treat her with such casual disrespect again. She wasn't made for his cock. She was a Sith Pureblood: The universe was made for  _her._

The most amusing thing of it all, were not the noises Pierce made of fear and pain— though those had been quite satisfactory— but was the aftermath in the weeks that had followed the misunderstanding.

Pierce hadn't made a pass at her in  _weeks._ It used to happen all the time.

Now, he offered the strictest of professional demeanors.

If it hadn't been for the fact that each of the crew knew better than to speak of her affairs outside the ship, and for the fact that the Emperor's Wrath let him run his covert ops in a way all his superiors up till then had  _not,_ and the fact that the Emperor's Wrath let him have access to her Twi'lek slave when he was uncomfortable, the Sith might have been concerned Pierce might turn on her.

As it was, he knew a good thing when he bathed in it. And he knew better than to throw his hat in the ring for her physical favors again.

He was much  _better_ this way. Less  _loud._ Less obnoxious.

Using him to silence Vette's whining had been rather nice as well. They even seemed vaguely fond of one another.

Besides.

_Jaesa is using him to try to sire_ her  _offspring._

The Sith's little apprentice, so fervent in her desire to please her mistress. Jaesa had a special Force gifting that allowed her to peer into a heart and sense its intentions for good or for ill. Her current master had spent quite a lot of effort— and blood— to procure her, and had no intention of letting her skills go to waste.

If it could be passed down, it needed to be.

Jaesa had listened to that case, agreed, and asked if her master cared which of the crew's men she used.

It had amused the Warrior, so she had given Pierce to her apprentice.

Quinn stood at attention, eyes down, listening intently.

“You are not a specimen like Pierce, and you have not the Force, but you certainly do not lack spine. And, you've already betrayed me. You know not to do so again.”

A slight tremble in his hand.

She had yet to punish him for that, and he knew it would be her right to do so, whenever she should decide to.

But, when he'd surrendered to her, there had been such an honesty about his actions, and he'd bared his throat to her with such brave readiness for death— he hadn't even tried to fight her.

He hadn't particularly wanted to in the first place, either. His hand had been forced by a man who'd had him by the throat at the time.

That man was dead now.

And Quinn's deference for his mistress was and had always been real— Jaesa had seen it.

“So, Quinn. Show me a good time.” She leaned back against the door and waited, watching as his eyes went wide when he realized he would receive no other instruction.

 

* * *

 

**Two years ago, on Balmorra**

 

She was well on her way to getting out of here, her collared Twi'lek slave at her heels and mostly quiet from sheer exhaustion.

The last two weeks fighting against the Resistance on Balmorra had been grueling, even for the woman who carried a blaster, but not her freedom.

Rounding the corner and stepping into the hangar where she'd left her ship, the Warrior found the man she'd been working with over the past two weeks.

Quinn, wasn't it? A lieutenant.

He'd been efficient and professional. Pleasingly deferential. Didn't talk too much, unlike Vette.

She threw a sideways glower at the Twi'lek, who saw it and winced.

She'd be tempted to cut that babbling tongue out of her head, if it weren't so useful for other things.

Quinn bowed as they approached. “My lord, I hope you don't find my appearance here too obtrusive. I beg an audience.” He bowed.

“Speak.” She paused, studying him. What could he possibly want?

“As you know, Lord Baras enabled my reassignment anywhere I choose. It is an evolution I've longed for and assumed would never come. Aiding your mission on this planet has reawakened the ambition I began my career with— to make the most profound impact possible for the Empire.”

She arched an eye ridge, crowned by a graceful tendril common to her species. “We share the same desire in that.”

“I cannot think of a more  glorious and honorable way to make a difference in the galaxy than to serve you.”

A choked noise hissed up through Vette's throat.

Before the Warrior could call Quinn on his exaggerations, the man  _ sank to one knee,  _ as if about to propose to her, and murmured, “I'm here to pledge myself to you.”

Both eye ridges shot up almost to her perfectly-coiffed black hair.

“I'm ready and willing to serve in whatever capacity you see fit.”

Vette sputtered. “You would go to her  _ willingly _ ?  _ No one serves her willingly! _ You saw what she's  _ like,  _ why would you—”

A  _ prey-do-tell  _ with an  _ e  _ glance in Vette's direction silenced the Twi'lek, though she didn't look frightened.

An annoyance.

Some day the Warrior would gift Vette to the Sith Warrior's most  _ hated  _ enemy and then laugh as the Twi'lek drove him mad.

The only real reason to keep so terribly back-talking a slave was to stoke the fires of her wrath. Having to listen to the inane chatter kept Vette's mistress just a half-second from brutal violence all day long.

Better than caffeine.

Quinn still knelt at her feet, as if he  _ wanted  _ to be there, and a strange hope and happiness swirled within him at being there. “My lord, if given the chance, I know I will prove myself to you. I'm a top notch pilot, military strategist, and a deadly shot. I can fly this ship, plan your battles, assess your enemies and kill them.”

“A bit early, don't you think, to swear you'd kill for her?” Vette mumbled.

The Sith twitched her fingers, using the Force to tighten around one of the Twi'lek's sensitive lekku. The blue creature hissed, but neither apologized or spoke again.

Quinn ignored the slave. “You won't find a more tireless and loyal subject. I offer my military prowess and dedicate every ounce of my strength to your cause.”

“You sound potentially useful.” And she had interest in learning more of this odd shiver that went through his mind when he knelt at her feet. Did he crave service to a powerful woman? Now that might be a man worth permitting on her ship. “Welcome aboard.”

She listened while he thanked her, watched as he stood, and smiled as he strode up the ramp willingly into her service.

It was a... rather heady thing, to have someone not  _ forced. _

 

* * *

 

**Present**

 

 

Pierce shuddered.

He'd gotten into her chamber in the first place by insinuating he'd be a better lay than Quinn.

Now? He just needed Quinn to be  _exactly_ what the Emperor's Wrath wanted, so that she would leave Pierce's body alone. In the old black ops days, he had joked with the rest of them about women who liked playing rough. How enjoyable it was.

He wouldn't be swift to joke about such a thing again.

He was grateful he hadn't died on her floor that night. He still awoke with nightmares that Vette would soothe away with her curves and kisses, undoubtedly understanding his horror.

Pierce had thought it amusing, in the early days, when their mistress had commanded Vette to attend her after the Twi'lek had mouthed off once too often. Even though something looked broken about the slave afterwards, Pierce had shrugged it off. She hadn't been physically damaged, so what could possibly have happened that was so terrible?

He could guess, now. The Sith may have crawled in her mind and made her  _feel_ things, pleasure and pain— she  _hadn't_ given Pierce the former, but she'd demonstrated she  _could_ if she chose, and then pointedly chose  _not to._

If hiding in the arms of two quite attractive women could make the mistress stop seeing him as available, then Pierce would have sex with either Jaesa or Vette every night of the week. Even if neither were who he would have gone for, if he had a bar full of women to choose from.

But if Quinn  _died_ beneath Her— and he was  _weak_ enough for that, Pierce was sure— then Pierce would be in Her sites again.

Then again, so would Vette, though for different reasons. If She could take her tastes out on Quinn, then they  _both_ might escape.

“Do you really think She can't sense you eavesdropping?” Jaesa, once a Jedi Padawan before being captured by the Warrior and broken to the mistress' will, scoffed. “She  _knows._ ”

That She undoubtedly did, but since She hadn't sent them away, the two who would suffer or gain the most depending on the outcome of this... artless seduction would  _not_ be leaving.

 

* * *

 

Quinn took a hesitant step in her direction, then wavered.

“Do you fear me?” his master asked, and she felt the smile curving her lips.

His expression turned from unsure to fervent. “Certainly, my lord. You are power and death given form. Exquisite in the terror you instill.”

“I do like you, Quinn.”  _You certainly have a silver tongue._ “For such a pleasing answer, I will guide you. Take off your clothes first— and make it a show— and when you are done, take off mine.”

Relief spilled out of him in the Force even with his controlled calm back in place on his face. “As you wish.” He unbuttoned his high-collared uniform with slow fingers, cocking his hip to the side.

_Ah. Look at that. He knows Pierce's up-your-sinuses masculinity was obnoxious to me, so he's going for something less assertive, more soft._

But not  _so very_ soft, knowing she had thrown aside Vette in disgust as well.

“Do you remember our time on Voss, Quinn?” she murmured, watching with half-closed eyes as he peeled himself out of his clothing.

Something flickered in his eyes, and she caught wind of an echo of remembered pain in the Force. “I have not forgotten.”

“Do you know you were impossibly attractive that day, Quinn?”  
Again, the confusion in his brow. “Was I, my lord?”  
She prowled closer, placing her hand on his bared chest as he froze very still.

“The Voss Mystic required a gift of life energy, of pain. And when I commanded you to pay it, you gave so sweetly.” A shudder ran through her form, and Quinn's quick gaze took it in.

“Did I please you then, my lord?”

She led with her teeth, pausing just by his ear. “Yes,” she whispered. “Very much. Your quiet moans were exquisite. Your trust in me a thing altogether foolish and altogether arousing.”

He shuddered, lips parting to drag in breath.

And there—

Through all the fear, the Sith  _saw_ it again. Something that revealed glimpses of itself here and there through their time together. Something that had been trying to reach out to her since the beginning, something that Pierce had sensed and despised him for. Something Vette had seen and sneered about.

Something Jaesa had seen but not had words for, except for one that reoccurred as she tried to explain his threat level:  _safe._

“Do you enjoy fear, Malavai Quinn?” she murmured, moving to stand behind him as he unhooked the last of his uniform to slide it down his hips.

Again the shiver down his back. “At times, my lord. At others it wears me out, makes me less useful in your service.”

“Mmm. And which time is now?”  
“I do not yet know, my lord.”

He straightened up again, now that his ankles were free. He stood at attention, hands behind his back, completely unclothed, and not turning his head to look at her, though the instinct to do so had to be intense.

“What exactly  _do_ you fear in this moment, Captain Quinn?”

“I fear failing to please you.”

“Would it ease your unprofitable terror if I directed you in this, Quinn, instead of making you guess each step of the way?”

He did not move. “Whatever pleases my lord the best. My fear is yours, as is every other part of me.”  
_Oh._

The last thoughts of Pierce and Vette fled from the Warrior's mind.

“You are so very clever with that tongue,” she praised with a smile. “I choose for your fear to shift, my Quinn. I will tell you what I desire in any given part of this, and all you need concern yourself with is carrying out my instructions as well as you can.”  
A shudder much larger than the previous shivers ran through him, seizing even his legs. “You are very generous, my lord.”

“Stand still.”

Another might have given some form of reaction to the command, but instead of speaking, Quinn simply remained frozen.

_Very nice._

She divested herself of her clothes quickly, then pressed up against him from behind, her hands snaking around to pass possessively over his chest and stomach.

“You are mine,” she purred. “Your pleasure is mine. You will find pleasure in me alone.”

His head tipped back to rest against her shoulder. “As you wish.” He did not sound displeased.

“You will never assume I  _owe_ you any form of pleasure.”

“Of course not, my lord.”  
“If you are very,  _very_ good, I might allow you the consolation of your hand when we are not creating my legacy.”

“However you see fit to use me.”

She embraced him tighter, feeling air puff out of him from the strength of her grip. “Tell me what you thought when I told you to give your pain to that Mystic and you sank to your knees before me.”

“The dying sun was in your hair,” he whispered. “Streaking the black with gold like the waves of a darkened sea. There was no mercy in your eyes, only possession, and I knew that if the Mystic tried to take too much from me, you would put a saber through her heart for taking what was yours.”

His mistress pressed her lips to his nape just under his ear, and he shuddered again in her arms.

“All I could think of was that for a mortal to witness such terrible fire and beauty was to die, and that I was content to offer up a gift of pain to appease my goddess for the privilege of witnessing her.”

She scraped her teeth over the skin of his throat, hovering over his pounding jugular. “And when the pain struck?”  
He shuddered again, and she felt his desire throbbing through the Force.

“I wanted you to see how sorry I was for what I did; I wanted you to see to the deepest part of my soul and read that my loyalty is to you, to you alone.”

“I enjoyed your gift very much.” She turned him with insistent hands to face her, then seizing his nape with one hand, and his jaw with the other, she tiled his head up. “Suppose you could offer another gift to me sometime; of pain or pleasure, either with equal value in my eyes. Which would you choose? To give me pleasure, or to endure pain?”

His gaze searched her eyes, earnest, seeking. “And yet is not breathing in my willingly surrendered pain a pleasure all its own for you, my lord?”

“It certainly has its charms.”  _And it gave you a beauty you did not posses before to my eyes._

He placed his hands on her shoulders, and a tiny smile touched his mouth. “Permission to speak freely?”

“Granted.” She was curious to see what he had to say.

“I crave both parts of you. Your approval, and your hunger for my pain.”

_So the glimpses in the Force did not deceive._

He longed to give as much as she longed to take.

He had from the start.

Had recognized in her someone who might give what he needed, and had thrown himself utterly into the task of securing her permission to kneel at her feet, however far she traveled.

“Then submit,” she whispered, rubbing her hands down his strong thighs and tapping to tell him to let her take his weight. She lifted him as he gave a little bounce to allow his legs to hook around her hips, squeezing tight as she moved them to pin him to the wall.

He stared down into her eyes, and then opened his mouth, leaning his head down.

She surged up to claim his mouth, every inch of it, while his cock throbbed against her stomach and his calves gripped her tight.

“Tell me, Quinn,” she continued, voice quivering with need now. “Would you kneel to me, offer me such a gift of pain now, simply because the taste of it captivates me?”

He opened his mouth to speak but she placed her crimson finger against his lips.

“Not because you would die if you refused. If I gave you a choice: pain and then pleasure, or simply pleasure...” she waited for a moment before she smiled at the fact that he remained silent with her finger over his mouth. “Now speak.”

“Permit me to give you everything I have, my lord. Please.”

Oh,  _yes._

She backed away, letting his feet find the floor again. He knelt to her, hands beginning to reach out to her before he thought and then placed them behind his back.

“Tell me what you need, Quinn,” she murmured. “I do not want this from you because it is required.”

He was beautiful like this, shorn of everything but his own inherent dignity, on his knees, his own hands binding himself.

But if he submitted to this out of fear of her, the sweetness of it would be tainted. She wanted to taste that shocking willingness she'd caught a sense of on Voss.

“Please, my lord. Take your fill of my pain. Let me show you how much I value my place at your side.”

The Force sang with his honesty, with need, with his hunger—

His mistress smiled, and fed him.

 

* * *

 

Pierce couldn't hear a thing through the door, after the two stopped speaking.

The captain was  _crazy_ to offer so much. Survival didn't suggest offering  _so_ much.

A tiny noise filtered through, a guttural breath.

Vette arched a brow, clearly thinking sex was happening on the other side.

Pierce didn't think so. Not yet.

The moan of sheer anguish that followed confirmed the suspicions based on Pierce's flashbacks and nightmares, and Vette clapped a hand over her mouth in horror.

“My lord,” Quinn's voice wavered. “Oh, my lord.”  
The droid peered down the hall, head bent in what looked like a worried gesture.

Even Jaesa sat up, listening intently.

“For you, anything—”

A cry interrupted Malavai's oath.

A confused expression crossed Jaesa's face. “He's sincere,” she mumbled. “I don't understand. He's afraid... but so  _jubilant._ ”

“He's wanted her since the beginning,” Vette whispered. “I always figured it was just for sex, though.”

Pierce sent her a disbelieving look. “He all but kissed her boots at every opportunity. To the point where it embarrassed everyone else in the room except for those two. A man does that with a woman? He doesn't  _just_ want sex.”

“What? He wants to be tortured?” Vette scoffed.

He shook his head. “For being the world-wise one on this ship, you can be incredibly naive.”

 

* * *

 

Quinn writhed as his mistress poured pain through his body.

It wasn't lightening, didn't seem to be any Sith sorcery, so she was fooling his mind into thinking he was damaged when he wasn't.

Oh, it  _hurt_ enough, but he trusted her to not lessen his effectiveness in carrying out her will.

“Please,” he rasped through the exquisite torment, feeling his cock leaking and his thighs trembling. “Allow me to kiss your shoes.”

She still wore them, having not bothered with them when she shucked her clothing, having valued speed at the time. The heavy war boots took time to undo.

“You may,” she directed.

Quinn leaned forward and worshiped the steel and leather, shivering as another wave of pain passed down his back, like the warm stroke of a hand. A whimper escaped his throat and his hips canted up.

“You are lovely,” his Sith praised, her voice raw from desire and pleasure—  _he_ was doing that to her, giving her something so visceral—

And then he was no longer on the floor, invisible hands lifting him and placing him on the bed, back down. New claws of pain dug deep into his mind, and he shrieked, back arching and vision blanking.

By the time the pain receded enough to leave him aware of anything beyond it, Quinn realized he was no longer aroused, and that a warm, wet grip around his cock was slipping away.

He lay against the bed, trying to breathe, shuddering with the aftereffects of torment and orgasm alike as both faded into a warm blanket wrapping his limbs and mind.

“Did I please?” he rasped at last, feeling the bed dip as his Sith lay down beside him, propped up on an elbow.

A finger traced down his nose, then caressed the moles on his cheek.

“You were certainly better than Pierce,” she chuckled, and Quinn suddenly remembered they probably had an audience. He felt himself blush, a painful embarrassment.

His mistress looked amused by it, leaning in to press a kiss to his overheated cheek.

He suspected that she had made him climax almost as soon as she'd placed his cock within her, and then left rather quickly. If she hadn't conceived, the odds were quite high she would want to try again. If she  _had..._ well, she might kill him. Or she might keep him.

And while he  _would_ like a bit more certainty than that, he submitted to the knowledge that he did not deserve such a surety yet. Not after he'd... no.  _I deserve to suffer for that for awhile, yet. If we're all honest, I deserved death for betraying her._

If it had been any other member of her crew or Empire, they would  _already_ be dead. But not him.

“Of what do you think so mightily?” his Sith queried, a brow spike lifting.

That he wished to touch the ridges and projections on her face and jaw and breastbone? “Do you wish me to leave at once, my lord?”

A soft smile lit her face. “You may sleep beside me tonight, Quinn.”

Hope and shock flooded his heart, making it thunder madly. From the way her gaze moved to his throat, he figured she sensed or saw it. “You would allow this?” he whispered, voice not quite steady.

“Should you try to murder me while I sleep, I think you would find more than you bargained for.”

“Never again, my lord,” he avowed. “I am yours alone.”

No more trying to serve two masters.

He dropped his voice low to give words to her and her alone, “You freed me from him, and I am most grateful.”

Not to mention she had  _no need_ whatsoever to let him stay. Perhaps, someday, she would believe his commitment. Would trust him fully, the way she never had. Would realize that he would have her back, whatever came, however hopeless things got in this mad,  _mad_ universe.

_I love you._

He'd realized it before his betrayal, realized it after fighting under her orders for so long...

_And now I'm allowed to be present while she sleeps._

It left him feeling precious all the way down to his toes.

His Sith chuckled again and drew him close, relaxing to sleep with her leg thrown possessively over his.

_Force of my mistress, please let this not have been a fantasy when I awake._

Oh, let it be real.

 

* * *

 

Utter silence fell for too long.

“Is... he dead?” Vette whispered, eyes wide.

Pierce shook his head and crept away from the door.

“Long live the happy couple,” Jaesa pronounced. “Which reminds me, Pierce.”

The droid watched them disappear into Jaesa's room, then turned to Vette. “Tell me, do you think Master Quinn will survive?”  
“I think, as bizarre as it is, that he's right where he wants to be.”

The droid considered it for a moment, then nodded. “I shall put a pleasing and romantic fragrance into the air filtration system. Perhaps it shall lend good luck to the apprentice in her endeavors to create a tiny Sith.”

He trundled off, pleased with himself, the last of the worry gone.

Vette simply slumped against the wall, relieved to be  _absolutely_ alone, and shaking her head about the utter madness of Sith and the people who gathered to follow them into hell and not always back out again.

_She_ was the only one with a control chip in her, for frip's sake, and yet they all  _fripping stayed!_

Though...

If the option was to return to the slave work Vette had been set to  _before_ she'd been gifted to their mistress...

_Force damn it, I choose her too._ _But at least_ I'm _not curled up in her bed crooning a love song in her ear._

Vette preened, just a little, at that.

_Somebody_ on this damn ship had to have  _some_ self respect.

 

 


End file.
